‘The Devil’s Mouth’ Review: Sharks, Selfies, and Very Bad Decisions

Blame Steven Spielberg. Seriously—if sharks are still clocking in for cinematic duty six decades after Jaws, it’s because he taught them how to hold a close-up. The subgenre, much like its toothy stars, refuses to go extinct. It has done everything—comedy, action, drama, documentary, straight horror, and all possible hybrids—and it keeps resurfacing after every supposed downturn. The Devil’s Mouth dives headfirst into the “dangerous sharks” lane, with a firm side of “twentysomethings in peril,” and, for good measure, a third tag: “creepy caves.” Line those three up and you’ve basically got Jeff Wadlow’s pitch (yes, the Kick-Ass 2 guy).

In the last three years alone we’ve had a dozen-plus shark movies, docs included, and this one dutifully ticks every box. Five college friends—three women, two men—are vacationing in Thailand. Max (Lana Condor) is the alpha, high-strung and controlling; Sara (Kathryn Newton, well on her way to scream-queen tenure) is the quieter friend; James (Nico Hiraga) is Max’s boyfriend; Greg (Gavin Casalegno) supplies the abs; Adrienne (Tommi Rose) supplies the vibes.

Max and Sara’s friendship comes pre-cracked and only gets worse when Sara is conveniently “forgotten” in jellyfish territory and ends up with stung legs. Meanwhile, the group’s aquatic tour escalates from music, selfies, and social-media content to a less advisable mix of alcohol and bravado. Enter the guide (Tayme Thapthimthong) and the worst possible idea: a cave route that is explicitly not recommended. Naturally, they take it. You can probably storyboard the next hour in your sleep.

The one visual tweak is that the tourist buffet doesn’t unfold in open water under postcard lighting, but inside a network of dark caves—pockets, tunnels, chambers—where our heroes can intermittently dodge a very large shark with very strong opinions about trespassing. It doesn’t go smoothly. Tensions flare, mistakes multiply, accidents pile up, and the teeth do what teeth do. Soon it’s not five. Not four. You know the drill.

Wadlow, a seasoned B-movie hand, assembles a handful of serviceable suspense beats even when everything feels pre-solved. The film improves in the final stretch, when the body count has streamlined the cast and the conflicts sharpen. The shark recedes just enough for the real antagonists to step in: space, darkness, silence, time—and, crucially, the group’s very limited trust in one another. Because if you’re going to spelunk where sharks might be, it helps to bring friends you’d actually bet on. Here, that’s… optimistic.